


Snarled Confessions

by Leigonclaimed



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27698540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leigonclaimed/pseuds/Leigonclaimed
Summary: “I am not afraid of you!” Gendry’s scowl shifts, strong brow furrowing in confusion and how can he still be so handsome when he looks so stupid.
Relationships: Arya Stark/Gendry Waters
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62





	Snarled Confessions

Those who really knew her would probably think he’d fucked it but they would be wrong. The truth of it is it had taken everything in her to break Gendry’s heart the way she had. He’d knelt there all wonderful, and handsome, and good, and all sorts of other things she no longer deserved. No, he hadn’t fucked it asking for her hand the way he had, hadn’t pushed her away asking her to be everything she’s always hated most. Arya knows Gendry better than anyone else in this shit world, even better than Jon, even with all the broken years between them so she’d understood what he’d been meaning to say.

Of course she’d known her stubborn, bull-headed boy wasn’t asking her to be his Lady. He’d been asking her to be m’lady and that may be a small distinction for other people but it is everything to them. Gendry had known exactly who he’d been asking and she’d known what he meant but still, she’d said no. There was so much he didn’t know. Things she’s done that she’d rather he never know. He is genuinely good and she, well...she’d only drag him down into the dark alongside her. Best to let him go now then to give him hope because even if she did manage to survive the coming wars no one cannot be a wife.

Maybe in another life she would have turned out different. Would have swooned at his brilliant blue eyes and all the emotions she could see there. Would have learned to lean on the strength in those broad shoulders and let him keep her safe. He certainly looked strong enough to take on the world for her, even with that charming awkwardness, but this isn’t another world, it’s her own shit one and she won't ruin what is left of his life.

Arya waits only long enough for the heavy footfalls to fade before bolting, fleeing straight to the Godswood where she can howl her grief to the old gods, the Weirwood tree standing silent witness to her pain. This horrid world had stolen everything from them, from him, and now she’s taken even more. Her fit is silent, just like everything else about her now, but she rages in the snow like the wolf she truly is, raises her eyes to the moon that shines silvery light and releases a howl of agony as a flurry of snow surrounds her like a tempest. It takes longer than she will ever admit to calm, settled at the base of the tree like she is a child hiding from her Lady mother once more. Though she is a child of the North Arya can still feel as the cold seeps down to her very bones.

“I have a son, you have a daughter. We’ll join our houses.” She hadn’t heard him approach but it’s no surprise to her. Bran has become an Other, no longer completely tethered to their world, same as her.

“What?” Her voice is colder than the snow. 

“Robert Baratheon said that to Ned Stark all those years ago and the old gods heard them.” He’s staring at the tree, not her, despite her own eyes watching him steadily as she processes what he’s said. Their entire family had ended up paying the price for those words. “Your list is gone now. In no future do the Lions nor the Mountain survive the storms to come. Your future is your own sister, belongs to Arya Stark alone.”

“But I am no longer Arya Stark.” It’s hard to say it aloud but she’d crossed into the other’s world and isn’t sure she can ever go back to who she once had been. She had thought returning to Winterfell, to her pack, was the answer and yet still she feels so untethered, so far removed from everyone and everything. The only time she’d felt like herself again was when she was with Gendry.

“As I am no longer Brandon Stark. Our world changed and us with it but Gendry Baratheon would love you as Arya, Arry, no one, or anyone else you chose to be. It is real, and strong, and the only thing you have ever been truly afraid of.” Her snarl in response is savage.

“I am not afraid.”

The thing her brother has become is unfazed by her ire. “You are but with time you could learn not to be.” With that his gaze loses focus, eyes going milky and Arya knows he will not respond to any argument she’d try to make anyway so she stands, brushes the accumulated snow from her lap and strides away before she lashes out. She is not afraid! She is trying to spare Gendry, keep him from making the mistake of getting too close to her again. Her thoughts circle wildly as she wanders Winterfell, a never ending tide of doubts and second guessing she is unused to and it only frustrates her further. It’s not much of a shock to look up and realize she’s wandered her way right to him.

She remains frozen before the doors to the forge, considers her options before gnashing her teeth and pressing forward. Her entrance is silent, a habit so ingrained she no longer needs to try, and inside it is cast in shadows with steam filling the air and the steady beating of a hammer makes finding him a simple thing. Gendry is pounding away with far more force then strictly necessary, hacking at the steel before him with each strike. There is a crack and a string of curses before he drops said hammer and flings whatever piece of hot metal he’s snapped across the forge. It’s not close enough for her to need to dodge it but plenty close for their eyes to catch when he finally looks up.

That strong jaw clenches and a small tick she’s not seen before appears as the fury rides him. He seems far more sober now and the heat that swells around and between them becomes quickly unbearable with the silence. Flustered she spits into the space separating them.

“I am not afraid of you!” Gendry’s scowl shifts, strong brow furrowing in confusion and how can he still be so handsome when he looks so stupid.

“Arya, what…” She doesn’t let him finish.

“Fear cuts deeper than swords.” Something moves in his eyes at that and he’s sidestepping the anvil he’d been working at. It’s clear he can tell how shaken she is and that only makes her angrier though she isn’t sure who exactly she’s angry with.

“I am not afraid of you but you should be afraid of me. You don't know what I’ve done, what I've become. What I gave up to get here. You would never look at me the same way again if you did Gendry.” The fury is back in those bright blues at that, another large step closing the distance she’s left between them.

“I don’t care Arya. You came back, that’s all that matters to me. I want to know everything that happened to you but it won’t make a damn bit of difference. If you really think anything you say can change how I feel then you don’t know me as well as I thought.” Such a stupidly stubborn boy. He would never understand, not unless she tells him but she can’t watch herself become a monster in his eyes. Her silence stretches long between them as her eyes trace over the workbenches. A pile of knives lay upon a bench across the room at another forge and she sidesteps, retreats from him while internally berating herself for it.

“Everyone thought I’d died and I should have, so many times. In order to stay alive I couldn't be Arya Stark anymore so I had to become someone else. Something else. I’ve been Arry, Beth, Nan, Cat of the Canals, and many others but no one is worse than Arya Stark.” Her fist tightens around the knife’s handle, old anger building atop the new as memories race behind her eyes.

“I’d already killed someone before we’d met, though I never told you about him. I was training with my dancing master when they arrested my father and when they came for me Syrio told me to run. I begged him to come with me but he stayed and he died so that I could flee except I got caught. A stable boy. I can’t even say I really blamed him for wanting the reward he’d get turning me in but I stuck my sword through him anyway. He was so surprised and I don’t think I will ever forget the look of shock on his face. I fled and lived on the streets of Kings Landing like some feral dog, survived on rats and pigeons for who knows how long until the execution.” Here her eyes clenched shut, burning horribly as she goes back to that day in her mind.

“I was there you know. Climbed up on the stature of Baylor and watched as they all lined the steps, marching my father out through the mob towards his own death. I don’t know how, even through all the chaos, everything he knew was about to happen, but my father still found me in the crowd. Our eyes met and I would have done anything to save him, to stop what had been set into motion by monsters we could’ve never suspected at the time. Yoren never told me how but my father sent him after me. He dragged me off the statue and tried to shield me from what was happening, wouldn’t let me watch them take his head but the crowd was roaring and then it went so silent and I knew. The rest is missing, I can't remember much till we were in an alley and he’s yelling at me that I’m Arry now as he chopped all my hair off. There was little else left of me but anger by the time I met you Gendry.” Needing an outlet for her nervous energy Arya begins spinning the blade in her hand expertly, far past the point of needing to see to avoid cutting herself. Gendry seems to have decided to stay still and be quiet, seems to know what this means for her as she spills her story.

“Yoren tried so hard to get me home and he didn’t deserve to die the way he did but I’m glad he didn’t go with us to Harrenhell. That place was...well, you know. Almost losing you there scared me. We were little more than slaves but at least we stayed together. Serving Tywin is where I learned the power of silence, how much you can learn if you simply listen, but I still knew we had to get out. If we hadn’t been out before he marched it would have been a swift death and I knew that. Remember when you complained I had given Jaqen the wrong names? You asked me why I didn’t name Tywin, or Cersei, or any of the other nobles tearing the world apart and I couldn’t give you an answer. You still couldn’t see how vengeful I really was, how I wanted to make those who hurt us pay, even as young and naïve as I was then.” It’s gone so quiet in the forge she’s tempted to look, see the expression on his face for herself, but she won’t.

“I thought escaping was hard but as you well know surviving on our own was harder. We were feral children on the run from the entire damned continent but I thought at the least we were free. So foolish.” Her eyes open here, watching herself spin the knife deftly for a few moments before she shakes her head with a scoff. She’d been so confident they would make it home then.

“We were woefully unprepared for the Brotherhood, the greedy bunch of cunts. I knew the game as soon as they traded Pie for our stay at the inn but you were a stubborn, bull-headed boy and you wanted to stay with them anyway, join the cause and all that. I knew they’d hurt you somehow but even I didn’t expect them to sell you off the way they did, least of all not so soon. I understand better now why you said what you did, how you had to have felt back then, but selfish as it was I still thought of you as mine and you were leaving me and I was gutted. I knew as they carted you off that I would never see you again. I was alone. Running off was foolish and gave the Hound the chance he’d been waiting for to snag me up but I didn’t think it mattered anymore anyway, he was just another person in a long line looking to sell me off to whatever was left of my family.” With an angry huff she tosses the knife back to it’s pile and it leaves her to curl her fists against her sides instead.

“We went to Riverrun. Sandor fucking Clegane, someone who despite all his bluster protected me best he could all things considered. He’s the only reason I survived that wedding. We were so close, an hour too late to have been slaughtered right alongside my mother and brother. They paraded him around, did you know? Stuck his wolves head atop his body and strutted him around like a puppet as they sang about the King in the North. I would have jumped into the fray and for sure ended up dead if Sandor hadn’t knocked me out and gotten us away. We were far off by the time I woke but it didn’t matter to me. Every Frey we crossed died by my blade and still it never seemed like enough.” There is a gasp as she talks of Robb, a saddened sound that she ignores best she can. She has to finish now.

“We travelled to the Eerie so he could try to sell me to our aunt and I left bodies all along the way, killing anyone who was an enemy of the Starks, which by that point was everyone. I was nothing but a killer but I was reckless and I cannot count the amount of times Sandor had to save my ass. He was desperate to be rid of me by then but when we got to Lysa turned out she was dead too and I laughed my ass off because there was no one in this fucking country to sell me back to even after he’d dragged me all across the countryside. It was just our luck that we ran into Brienne of Tarth and Sandor got his ass tossed off a cliff by the woman. She said she wanted to take me home but I was done being taken places by anyone and she couldn’t find me so I went to find Clegane instead, left him there to die and walked away from my past.” Shoving her fist beneath her tunic Arya pulls the iron coin free of where she keeps it stashed, studies it clinically in the dying firelight.

“Jaqen gave me this before he left. I didn’t understand who, or what, he was then but he told me to find a Braavossi and say the words and they would bring me to him. A ship captain took me across the Narrow Sea. Braavos is nothing like Westeros and I may belong to the old gods but I belonged there in a way I struggle to explain, a way I never did here. They dropped me off at the doorstep of a large building and I gave them my coin but they tested me before allowing me in, left me there alone and still I am not sure what they were testing. Somehow I managed to pass and was brought into the guild, made an acolyte to the God of Death. They trained me to deliver the gift, to be anyone and no one but it is trial by fire, every lesson beaten into your skin as they also teach you to manipulate the mind. Arya Stark died there, lost everything that made her someone so she could become no one, everything except the wolves blood flowing in my veins. The thirst for vengeance for what had been done.” Flipping the coin into the air she watches shadows dance on the wall, allows a feral grin to stretch her lips.

“Meryn Trant took Syrio from me so when he showed up in Braavos it was nothing, child's play, to get close to him. He liked little girls and they don't come much smaller than me. I relished slitting his throat, made sure he knew who had finally come for him in the end but I’d also broken the rules and the guild demanded punishment for taking a name of my own. I was cast out blind and they left me to once more beg on the streets yet their ‘training’ continued. They would show up every day to beat me until I learned to feel what I cannot see but that was their mistake. I suffered but I gained so much more.” With a snarl she slams the coin onto the same table as the knives and finally turns round. Finds Gendry far closer than she’s expected, towering over her so closely she could reach out and touch him even though she won’t. His expression is impressively blank.

“I fought my way back into their graces, earned back my sight and tried to let my past go but nothing worked. They sent me to kill an innocent and Ned Stark's voice rang in my ears, refusing me peace as I tried to do my job. Her only sin was her skill and I couldn’t kill her for that alone but no one is not supposed to ask questions and they wouldn’t forgive a second failure. One of the acolytes who’d trained me, a waif who’d always hated me was sent and she wanted me to suffer before I died. I didn’t even feel the first stab, just the adrenaline and fear because I knew I had to flee if I wanted to survive. She chased me through the canals until I jumped into the water and somehow managed to slip her but I was injured and needed help. The woman I had spared found me and stitched me up but she ended up paying with her life as well for her aid. Lucky for me they’d taught me to fight in the dark so I lured the waif to her death and took her name instead.” Now he looks stunned, eyes flickering to the scars he knows lie beneath her leathers.

“I was half dead when I boarded a ship back to Westeros, wasn't even sure I’d survive the journey but I had no choice. Lucky enough I healed, though it was a slow and painful process. When we finally landed I stole supplies and enough coin for a horse and set out for the Frey seat. They never suspected any danger, not till they were already choking on their own blood for what they’d done, and I enjoyed every second of it.” Her gaze drops again, shame gurgling unpleasantly in her gut.

“I cared for nothing but my vengeance, gave no thought to my own life since I didn’t think I had anything left to lose. I wanted that Lannister bitch dead by my blade and I was well on my way to King's Landing before the next sun. Stopping at the Inn at the Crossroads wasn’t in the plan but how could I not at the least check? Imagine my surprise to see Hot Pie alive and well there, fat as ever and baking up all sorts of things. He’s the one who told me about Jon and Sansa taking Winterfell in the Battle of the Bastards but I thought he was lying at first. I had given up all hope so long ago but if there was a chance...well I turned around anyway. Came here instead.” Her hands are shaking and she firsts them again, brings them to her eyes with a self-deprecating laugh.

“I’d forgotten who I was but still the call was too strong even if I’m not really Arya anymore. There are pieces of me missing now and those that aren't missing are not good.” It’s the first she’s told the whole sorry tale, the first she’s looked back on all that has happened since this all began. She had buried as much of her past as possible because she couldn’t bear to face it. The quiet lasts forever.

“Arry.” It’s a murmur, soft and sweet as his arms circle around her slim frame so he can pull her into his warmth. She struggles weakly for but a moment before surrendering to his embrace with a hiccupped cry. “God’s Arya I am so sorry. Sorry you’ve known nothing but pain and death for so long. Sorry I wasn’t with you through it, but Arya Stark is not dead. You may be feral and scary good with weaponry but you're exactly who you’ve always been.”

“Gendry.” It's a brittle plea, nearly a sob that she fails to suppress.

“I don’t know how you survived Arry but I will thank any gods you want that you did. You’ve seen nothing but the worst of life and I would give anything to go back and spare you that pain but you are here and that is all that matters to me. You're here Arya.”

“I am not afraid of you.” Finally he releases his grip on her, just enough so that she can tilt her face to meet his gorgeous, steady gaze. There is a smile there.

“Course’ not m’lady.” Then Gendry claims her lips, swallows her sigh of relief.


End file.
